Living
by Ghostly Melody
Summary: "She was at the precipice of ultimate death. And there was no return. " Alternate ending to season three. Andrea is alive. The events prior had been merely a dream. Andrea weighs death against life and humanity against survival. Rated T for upcoming content. Rickdrea.


**Living**

**A/N: Freaking pissed about Andrea's death. What the actual freak? Why did she have to die? It didn't progress the plot in ANY WAY. And now we're left with no Rick/Andrea relationship! Ugh! I invest so much into her character... And.. And they KILL HER OFF so unexpectedly? Her, the badass of Woodbury? She, who had so much to look forward to? Thanks, AMC, for leaving me with a tattered heart and broken spirit. **

**If any of you have a way to contact the producers of The Walking Dead, let. Me. Know. I want to email whomever is in charge and steer them in the right direction, season 4 wise.**

**This fic regards an alternate ending of sorts. If Andrea had merely dreamt Welcome to the Tombs.**

Living

Chapter One

When Andrea jolted from her nightmare, she had not anticipated multiple things.

Firstly, she remained adhered to the damned dentist's chair. Secondly, the room was bereft of Milton's emaciated form. Thirdly, the flesh of her neck was lacking the marring of an undead beast. And fourth.. her companions were not at her side.

There was not a gun in her palm.

The weapon was not poised at her temple.

And the world had not been engulfed in an ebony veil.

So, she had dreamt the whole debacle? She, and everyone else, was merely a screeching facade of her subconscious?

She had not perished.

She was... living.

Andrea sampled the word in her mind: living.

Andrea nearly let loose a howl of joy. Her sigh resonated throughout the walls of the torture chamber. And she was stagnant.

She was still at Woodbury.

Andrea thrashed around in the chair for a moment, fright and bewilderment enflaming in her insides until the conflagration threatened to devour her utterly. A fresh smattering of scarlet content oozed and stained her skin where the cuffs gnawed at her wrists. A deep moan slipped from her throat as she closed her eyes and her head began a maddening waltz.

She was at the precipice of ultimate death. And there was no return.

Would of it had been better that she had met her demise then and there? In her dream?

She titled her head back, battered skull perched on the chair's hold. To comfort her, add a sort of therapy, Andrea's mind ricocheted former thoughts, memories, yearnings, people of the preceding year.

Philip: Pugnacious. Cruel. Bewitching. A semblance of a man. He had practically led her to his house of torment.

Shane: Dominant. Forceful. Resilient. He had been almost a filler. A being to cling to when no one had offered a hand. She felt remorse for his death. His fate.

Dale: Amiable. Jovial. Hopeful. So sprightly and full of mirth and zeal for humanity. Never once had he shied from publicizing his opinion. He had taught her many things. Perhaps she could of altered his death. But she had been a fool. As she was now.

Michonne: Companion. Steadfast. Savior. She was there to uplift her when she was crumpled and fragmented at Death's door. Michonne had transcended her health when it languished. She could never repay her for her deeds. Her sacrifices. She was an honorable woman.

Rick... She paused at his name, sighing. Kind. Tantalizing. Familiar. Loyalty simmered from his being. Never again would she witness his countenance, outward benevolence, husky and charming laugh, or fall victim to his smoldering stare. Yes, folded and tucked away neatly within the receded crannies of her mind she loved Rick. Yet she would never have the opportunity to tell him.

Rick. Rick. Rick.

His name was a cadence to her, a soothing repetition to ease her to a tranquil state. Andrea mouthed his name, brows knitted and fists curled.

The memories inundated her; how near in proximity she was to the Prison merely days prior. She could see Rick perched on the watchtower. Why had she only whispered his name? Andrea recalled the ache in her bones, the yowling of her head, and the spiraling of her energy. The sight of him allowed a rejuvenation to pass through her senses. She was intact. For the time being.

Andrea had extended her hand to signal Rick. Suddenly, the world had stumbled away and she was pinned to the ground, Philip hovering above her.

The image of his face had never left her since.

Andrea's eyes eased open when there came a clatter from the conjoined room. She was aware of the thundering of footfall. She cowered and quaked in the seat, eyes trained to the doorway.

When the Governor entered the threshold, his arms were behind his back. He appraised her mockingly, an unremitting sneer concrete on his face. "You've gave a good, long fight, my dear."

His voice was poison to her.

"I'm really stunned you've managed to stay alive, considering all I've done to you," he chuckled coldly when he took note of the grounding of her teeth, "It's a shame. Woodbury could of used you. You're quite the little fighter."

He ghosted his finger across her cheek and she scowled, lashing her head sharply to the right. His hand came in contact with her cheek, the strike like lightning in the enveloping silence subsequent.

"You probably already know what I plan to do to that sword-wielding friend of yours." Philip's grin twisted into a wry smile. Andrea's eyes dilated and she strained against the handcuffs.

"And that cowboy, Rick." Andrea's lowered head snapped up at this. He snickered. "Oh, boy. I can't wait till I get my hands on him."

"Go to Hell." She hissed, teeth clenched.

Philip shrugged. "Already in Hell, Andrea," the silence prolonged and a cynical smile cracked across his face, "you and me both."

He descended upon her, his vice-like hands poised at her arms, grappling her with coarse hands. The tempo of his torture increased, bruises erupting on her limbs. His nails bit at her skin. Andrea cried aloud as he dragged his hands down to the cuffs, a sneer plastered to his lips. Andrea peered at the evidence of his hands, the maroon content which seeped from the searing cuts.

The Governor withdrew a blade from the waistband of his pants. With a guttural sound he grasped her bloodied tresses in his fingers and yanked her head backward. His breath was torrid on her flesh.

"Do what you want, Philip. I've got nothing to live for." Andrea croaked.

"I'd disagree."

Philip placed the tip of the knife at her collarbone, the skin unmarred by the blade. It navigated along her neck, her chin, her lips. Still, there was no harm.

The cold weapon flew to her cheekbone.

With a grin and an animalistic glare, Philip hurried the sharpened blade into her skin; the knife penetrated the sensitive area as he forced it along the membrane of her flesh. The incision ended somewhere near her mouth.

Philip took a step back from his victim, his arms laced across his chest. He smirked and stated with equal malice, "Would hate to be you when that damn ugly thing scars."

There was a punch.

And then she fell away into the comfort of dark.

**A/N:**

**Sorry this one's a bit short. Also working on another fic that involves Rick and Andrea. It's pretty much devouring my time.**

**Also, I don't know if I'll finish any of my other fics going on right now. With Andrea dead... I just don't know.**


End file.
